


Chronicle Macabre

by masqueOFmacabre (CaktusJuice)



Series: Flight Rising Clan Lore [1]
Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Child Abuse, Dragon Sacrifice, Gore, Minor Character Death, Other, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15720681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaktusJuice/pseuds/masqueOFmacabre
Summary: A chronicle of the lore surrounding the Macabre clan. A dragon clan from Flight Rising.





	1. Prologue

 

Alone in the wastelands, abandoned or orphaned, a single sickly green egg began to shake. As the thin shell cracked a beak like snout emerged. It sniffed the air curiously, hissed and growled. It's tongue flickered out as though to taste the rotten air. It seemed content - for a time - to simply remain there, mostly submerged in the egg, and blindly take in its surroundings. The hatchling was pleased to remain warm in its shell for the time being, even if it was not that much warmer than the air outside.

After a time a small clawed hand appeared and pushed at the shell, cracking it further to clear a hole for its head to peek out. The world was rather blurry from the looks of things. The tiny mirror blinked the putrid cytoplasm from its eyes before looking around curiously at its surroundings. Now that it could make out the world around it, it grabbed the side of the diseased nest of its birth and pulled itself forward, sliding out of the shell and leaving it behind.

With a hard thrash of its body the rest of the cytoplasm was shaken off its form and splattered on the infected ground where it sat. Then clean of the slime it dared to stand, its legs wobbly at first. It fought with its newly hatched muscles to rise up and walk, as was the instinct of most hatchlings. The young dragon toppled several times before it gained control. And when finally it did it put its head low to the ground and sniffed.

Already its appetite was driving it, and it took very little time to lock onto the scent of a pocketmouse.

The mirror, still very new to the world, set off on the hunt.


	2. Scourge and Peak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scourge meets a tundra.

Mirror dragons were drawn to large groups. With a pack-like mentality it was no surprise that the young dragon, who called himself Scourge, took up with a group of infestation hounds at such a young age. With no other mirrors to help him hunt he adapted other tactics. He acted as the dead, resting in the dogpile of hounds and waiting for any small and unfortunate creature to scurry over him. This was a behavior that continued well into his adolescent years, but after a certain point his instincts took over and he began to experience the kind of itch that hunter types do when their nature calls them.

It would make sense to many to integrate into a passing pack and hunt with them until he was ready to depart into another. However, Scourge was not as keen to this idea as many of his kind were. He was born an alpha, a trait often lacked by many mirrors. Often times packs of mirrors were leaderless, a system that Scourge found hectic and lacking of structure. This was possibly a feeling formed from his early years spent with the hounds, where there had always been a decided leader among the members. This was a position that the drake could happily see himself in with his own kind.

It was perhaps for this reason that Scourge did not seek out a pack, but resolved to start his own. He knew of course that this would not happen over night, and that instead he must search for dragons willing to join him, a task easier said than done. It was a goal not in the near future and for now he would focus on preserving himself.

Acid rain was brought with season and to spare himself its corrosive bite Scourge hunkered down into a lair, long abandoned by a mirror pack who - as far as scourge knew - had split into three separate packs upon departure. He was unable to help from wondering to himself just how his kin kept track of anything with such behavior. Admittedly, he decided, most of them must be stupid.

As the rain poured down it hissed against the fleshy earth and poured into the cracks of the surface, deepening every scar of the surrounding Wasteland. The cave - that Scourge now called his home - was quite large for a mirror pack, he wagered they must have been on the side of larger numbers. Thirty or forty mirrors could have called this cave home, such a thing would make perfect sense, when one considered that they had split their numbers when it came time to relocate. Exploring the lair would take time, and with the acidic precipitation falling down there was nothing better to do.

He explored the cave a little more every day, and when he rested he entertained himself with catching and tormenting pocketmice. It was a favored game of his, to capture a creature he could grasp with one clawed hand and see how badly he could frighten it before its heart gave out. Many tiny critters suffered in this way, many dragon kind may have thought Scourge a sadist. And indeed he was.

Scourge explored the cave thoroughly one morning, examining each and every nook and cranny of the hollowed out corridors and rooms. For quite a time he had thought himself alone. If not for the bundle of dried herbs and the excess of long green fur hidden in one of the chambers, he would have never have thought that he were not alone. Now there was evidence that someone else had been in the cave and they had been using this particular room as their lodge for some time. From the items there he could corroborate that it was a tundra who he had unknowingly been sharing the cave with.

He rested there in the room, waiting for his guest to return. Scourge was not a very patient dragon most of the time. He liked to meet resolves in short term, so the longer he waited for the other dragon the more anxious he became. He did not know what to expect of a tundra. He had seen them and he knew their scent well enough, but he had hardly ever talked to any of them and was not sure what exactly to foreknow.

Peak was not the cool shades of white and blue as often were brought to mind when one thought of tundras, nor was she the sickly raw colors that plague dragons were often known for. No, instead she was of greens and rich blues, and looked much like a flower or other type of vegetation.

Ugly.

Despite this Scourge found himself fascinated with her, possibly - and only - because she was fascinated with him. She asked him many questions about himself and, though mirrors did not often like idle chatter, Scourge was delighted to educate her on his favorite subjects. These subjects were of course himself and power. She seemed charmed by his dominant disposition and most of her days were spent speaking with him.

At first she'd had to ask him several times his name, which he had given her with some exasperation. She apologized often and had explained to him that Tundra, like herself, could be a bit absent minded. With time he grew used to this, though he still thought her somewhat dim. Nevertheless he learned to get along, if only for the fact that the rainy season was not yet over and he couldn't very well leave into the acidic downpour.

When finally the rain passed and the ground had dried the two set out for food, she for plants and he for meat, and the two did not interfere with the others order of business. They co-existed in the cave for quite a time till the spring beckoned forth a heat that caused blood to boil in most dragon kind.

And so one night when the urge was strong and driving, Scourge invited himself into the Tundra's room and he lay with her. His body, a fair deal larger than hers, draped over her and she allowed this. She smelled of rot and decay, and for the first time Scourge believed she was indeed a dragon of the Plaguemother, and this pleased him.

The months passed this way and though Scourge saw her as dumb and thought her hideous he knew she was a loyal wife, so he kept her at his side. If he were proud of nothing else then he was proud of this. That was enough to sate him for the time.

Then the war moved close. Beast clans threatened the territory and so Scourge was called to battle and - loyal as she were - peak joined his side. Each day was filled with battles that raged on endlessly, and each night was filled with the pained cries of soldiers who were tended to by the local root workers. And yet somehow the pair was blessed to leave each battle with no less than scratches and no worse than a fractured bone on occasion.

On nights when the cries of agony died down and only the rotten wind of the Wasteland blew over the festering earth, Scourge would lay with Peak as he had the first time the summer had beckoned him, and she welcomed him with eagerness and adoration.

Finally, when the Beast clans were fought back to their own, Scourge and his wife were released to turn home. And so they did and their days then after were filled with rest and food, and should they feel particularly strong they may lay in their mating bed for an hour or more, before succumbing to rest once more. When finally they had regained the strength they had before their days of war their lives returned to how they had been in years prior.

Days were spent searching for food, nights were spent in the rutting bed, and all was as it should be. Or so it may have been, but something had begun to bother Scourge, something odd and unnerving. For Peak - for all the times she had given herself for him - had never bared eggs. And what if she had? He could only imagine how hideous the children might be. Their markings were hardly complimentary and her colors left much to be desired. Plaguebringer forbid the children had their mother's memory, what children were those to be proud of?

Peak had been a loyal wife, it was true, but she was not a pretty one nor a smart one. And ugly brides were sure to make ugly children, hardly the offspring you might want to present to the Plaguemother.

No, something must change, and Scourge knew what it was that must be done.


End file.
